Harry Potter and the Mirror of the Soul
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (6/7) After Voldemort was revealed at the Department of Mysteries, open war erupted in the wizarding world. Dumbledore has offered to take Harry as an apprentice, with the goal of teaching Harry sorcery - the manipulation of magic in its purest form. Harry is happy to learn, but Dumbledore seems to have another agenda...
1. Chapter 1

Harry was sitting across the room from a large man with a walrus-like moustache. This was not unusual, as Harry often found himself in this very situation during his summer holidays. In most cases, the large man in question would be Harry's Uncle Vernon, and the room in question would be located at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Tonight, however, Harry was far away from both Vernon and Number Four, Privet Drive, and the man sitting across from Harry was a wizard by the name of Horace Slughorn. Dumbledore was somewhere in the house, ostensibly making tea, leaving Harry with the unspoken task of persuading Slughorn to join the staff at Hogwarts.

"We've met before," Harry said, trying to prompt a conversation.

"Hmm?" Slughorn, who had been staring off into space, blinked and focused his eyes on Harry. "Pardon me, lad. I didn't catch that.

"We've met before. At the quidditch world cup. Lucius Malfoy introduced us." Harry gave Slughorn an odd look. "You remember, don't you?" Harry was rather famous—very few people forgot having met him.

"Of course I remember," Slughorn said. "Of course. I was just… lost in thought."

"You seem distracted," Harry said.

"No, not at all…" Slughorn's voice trailed off, and once again his gaze drifted to the right, losing focus as he looked past Harry's shoulder. Harry turned around—the only thing behind him was a picture window.

Harry stood and closed the curtains. "Is that better?" he asked.

"I… I'm not sure what Dumbledore wants of me," Slughorn said, trying to change the subject.

"I think he wants you to come teach," Harry said.

"Not sure why," Slughorn mumbled. "I'm just- AAAH!" Slughorn screamed as an enormous clatter came from the kitchen.

"My apologies!" Dumbledore's voice called out. "Nothing to worry about!"

Harry gave Slugnhorn an appraising look. He was breathing deeply and seemed tightly wound, tense. Slughorn's conversation with Dumbledore led Harry to believe that Slughorn was hiding from Death Eaters. Not necessarily on the run, but trying to remain out of sight lest he pique their interest. From what Lucius Malfoy had told him about Slughorn, this was not the type of existence that the older man wanted to live. Lucius had intimated that Slughorn was a man who liked his comforts and his luxuries, a man who reveled in the fame of his acquaintances, a man who would wilt without societal approval. Harry needed to play on those desires.

Harry wandered over to the fireplace and took a long look at the pictures Slughorn had placed on the mantle. His eyes settled on a picture of Slughorn and Gwenog Jones, captain of the Hollyshead Harpies quidditch team. She was wearing her uniform and playfully ruffling Slughorn's hair. "Is this Gwenog Jones?" Harry asked, pointing at the picture.

"Yes it is," Slughorn said. He stood and walked toward the mantle, seeming glad to have a distraction. "Gwenog was one of my favorite students at Hogwarts. Very near the end of my time teaching, but her talent was obvious. Striking, really. She still sends me tickets, if I happen to request them." Slughorn gestured toward the next picture on the mantle. "And here, this is…"

Harry half-listened as Slughorn expounded on the fame of the various wizards and witches shown in the pictures. Harry had spent enough time in Slytherin that he could feign interest and prolong the conversation without devoting the whole of his attention to the endeavor. Harry took note of important names and preferences—Ambrosius Flume, owns Honeydukes, sends Slughorn crystal pineapple; Barnabas Cuffe, editor of _The Daily Prophet_ —all while considering his next conversational maneuver. Harry's planning came to a screeching halt, however, when Slughorn mentioned someone completely unexpected.

"And, of course, your mother," Slughorn said.

"Where?" Harry said, turning his head curiously.

"Just there, in the back of the picture." Slughorn pointed, and Harry saw his mother peek out from behind the head of another student. "She was one of my best Potions students. Lily had true talent. Sad that we lost her so young…" Slughorn sighed. "You have her eyes, you know. Striking."

"Were you close?" Harry said.

"Oh, she was a member of my Slug Club. A special little group for the best and the brightest, you know—the wizards who have real potential." Slughorn smiled and patted Harry on the back. Harry thought he knew what Slughorn _really_ mean—the wizards who had real potential to get rich and send Slughorn with gifts.

"There's nothing like that at Hogwarts now," Harry said, trying to allow a little wistfulness to creep into his voice. Then, after a pause, "You know, you were always one of my mother's favorite teachers."

Slughorn eyed Harry with some suspicion. "It comes as no surprise, of course… but how did you come by that information?"

"Professor Snape," Harry said. "He told me that he and my mother were Potions partners for years. According to him they almost always were the first pair to finish, and any time they finished second was because the other group had made a mistake." Harry knew that his mother and Snape had been partners from looking at Snape's memories last year during occlumency lessons. The second bit, about other groups making mistakes, was a complete fabrication on Harry's part, but it was a calculated risk. Harry sensed that the best way to connect with Slughorn was through the memory of his mother, and playing up her status as one of Slughorn's best and favorite students would do that.

Slughorn grinned and began to chuckle, and Harry knew that his gambit had worked. "Yes, yes, that sounds like Severus and Lily. And how about you, Harry? Do you have your mother's talent at Potions?"  
"I'm not bad," Harry said, smiling broadly. "Not by a long shot."

"Ah, false humility." Slughorn clapped Harry on the back. "You're going to have to cover that smile, my boy, if you ever want to convince your audience."

"Do you ever miss it?" Harry asked. "Teaching?"

"Sometimes," Slughorn said. "I miss the students most. Seeing them grow as they moved through Hogwarts, watching them mature and then sending them out into the world… That's what I miss."

"Come back," Harry said. Slughorn looked stricken, but Harry forged onward. "Hogwarts could use something like the Slug Club. Something to bring us together, after last year's Inquisition. We need somebody who puts the best interests of the students first." Harry was more than aware that Slughorn put his own interests first, but he also seemed like the type who would be unable to admit that to himself.

"I don't know, Harry," Slughorn said.

"You can't go on living like this," Harry said. "Moving from house to house every few weeks, faking your own death every time a wizard happens to apparate nearby. You didn't know who we were or why we were here, and your first instinct was to turn yourself into an armchair." Harry paused. "That was quite impressive, by the way."

"Thank you," Slughorn said, puffing slightly with pride. "It took years of practice."

"At Hogwarts you'll be protected," Harry said. "Voldemort will never attack while Dumbledore is there."

Slughorn twitched violently at the sound of Voldemort's name. "Who said anything about You-Know-Who?"

"Who else could you be running from?" Harry asked quietly.

Slughorn folded his arms. "By joining Dumbledore I'd make myself a target!"

"You wouldn't be living here unless you already _were_ a target," Harry countered. He held out his hand. "Come with us, Professor Slughorn. Hogwarts needs you. _We_ need you. And you'll never be safer."

Slughorn twisted his mouth this way and that, and his massive moustache twitched back and forth. After a few moments, he shook his head and began to chuckle. "Harry, my boy, you're the first member of the new Slug Club. A true Slytherin, through and through." Slughorn raised a hand and began to shake his finger. "Nobody else could have convinced me, not even your mother!"

Dumbledore stepped into the room from the kitchen, carrying a tray with teacups and teapot. Harry got the impression that he had been lurking on the other side of the door, waiting to hear the outcome of Harry's conversation with Slughorn. "Did I hear you correctly, Horace? You will be joining us this year?"

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said. "And it was a dirty trick you played, sending Harry to convince me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

As the three wizards drank their tea, Dumbledore gave Slughorn instructions for moving to Hogwarts. Slughorn's personal belongings were ready to be moved on a moment's notice, as he had been living almost nomadically for several months. Dumbledore offered Hagrid's help to retrieve Slughorn's home furnishings from wherever they might be stored. Once the arrangements were finalized, Dumbledore quickly finished his tea and announced that they must be leaving. "And you must be packing," Dumbledore said, smiling at Slughorn.

"It seems I must," Slughorn said. "Ah, at least I won't need to buy any more dragon blood…"

Harry and Dumbledore said their goodbyes and stepped outside. Once Harry was safely under his invisibility cloak and Slughorn's door was shut tight behind them, Dumbledore began to speak to Harry in a low voice. "What do you think of Professor Slughorn, Harry?"

"He likes comfort," Harry said. "No, that isn't right. He likes luxury." The pair walked down toward the street and turned onto the sidewalk. "I'd say that he craved fame and power, but he doesn't, not exactly. He doesn't want the pressure or the responsibility, because then he couldn't be relax."

Dumbledore smiled. "Well put. Horace is like the moon—he would prefer to bask in reflected light rather than providing it himself. He tries to collect students with potential for fame or power in his 'Slug Club,' offering to assist them in exchange for future considerations." Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I have no doubt that he has set his sights on you, now that he has accepted a position at Hogwarts."

"I practically promised to join," Harry said.

They paused, standing under a streetlight. "And does the prospect concern you?" Dumbledore asked. He was searching through his pockets for something, and as he did Harry once again saw the Headmaster's blackened hand.

"Not necessarily," Harry said. "I wasn't the most popular person in the school last year. Or anywhere. After the Inquisition and lies that the _Prophet_ was printing, I could use some help in that area."

Dumbledore nodded. "Horace is generally harmless, so I will not discourage you from that pursuit. Aha!" Dumbledore withdrew his hand from his pocket, holding what appeared to be a cigarette lighter. He snapped his wrist to open the silver contraption, then flicked it with his thumb. The light from the streetlamp disappeared with a pop, leaving Harry and Dumbledore in darkness.

Harry expected that Dumbledore would invite him to take his arm, and that they would be apparating to their next destination. Instead, Dumbledore stood quietly in the darkness, saying nothing.

"Sir?" Harry asked, after a moment.

Dumbledore blinked and looked down at Harry. "Sorry, Harry. In my old age I sometimes become lost in thought."

"And what thought was that?"

"I thought that I should thank you for your efforts with Professor Slughorn. You did us all a great service by convincing him to return to Hogwarts. And… you remind me very much of a man I knew in my youth."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"He was a very charismatic young man," Dumbledore said. "At times, it seemed that he could convince almost anybody of anything."

Harry looked away, into the night. "You're talking about Voldemort, aren't you," Harry said.

"No," Dumbledore said. "I am not." The older man cleared his through and held out his elbow. "Take my arm, please. It is time we departed."

*!*!*!*

Dumbledore delivered Harry into the custody of Arthur and Molly Weasley. Dumbledore explained that he had strengthened the protective charms and wards on the houses of every member of the Order, and that he had paid particular attention to those at the Burrow. Harry could have returned to Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer, of course, but Dumbledore had (correctly) guessed that Harry would prefer the company of Ron and Ginny over the company of the Bloody Baron and Peeves. In reality, Harry would have preferred to stay at Grimmauld Place, but Dumbledore nixed that idea immediately. Having Harry stay at the Order's headquarters when his godfather lived there was apparently one sort of thing, while Harry live there alone except for Kreacher was another thing altogether.

When Dumbledore and Harry arrived at The Burrow, nearly everybody was already asleep. Only Molly Weasley remained awake to greet them. After Dumbledore left, Molly showed Harry to his room and Harry fell asleep almost immediately. The next morning, Harry discovered that waking up at The Burrow was unlike anything that Harry had previously experienced—and he had spent most of the last five years living in a dormitory with five other boys. It was a discovery that Harry made anew every morning over the next several weeks.

On days when Harry wasn't awoken by the noises and smells of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, he was awoken by the slams and bangs of the Weasely siblings as they tore through the house. Ron and Ginny were home, of course, but their older brother Bill was visiting, as well. The three siblings moved through the house like a well-choreographed tornado, blasting in and out of bedrooms at a hundred miles an hour as they got ready for the day. Harry's presence disrupted the delicate balance—even a quick visit to the privy could throw the Weasley children into chaos. Despite Harry's disruptive presence, things might have worked out reasonably well… except for Fleur.

Fleur was the reason for Bill's visit this summer—he had come to announce his engagement and introduce his fiancée to the family. Reactions to Fleur were decidedly mixed. Ron was elated to have Fleur in the house, but devastated because she was engaged to his older brother. Arthur and Molly were happy that Bill was engaged, but Molly seemed to think that Fleur was shallower than a rain puddle on a hot day. Ginny, meanwhile, seemed annoyed by Fleur's presence, and the only thing that restrained her snarky comments were cross looks from Arthur.

Fleur was a new variable in the Weasley family dynamic, one that could not be ignored. _Especially_ in the morning. While Harry would try to scurry in and out of the bathroom as quickly as possible, Fleur claimed the room for seemingly hours on end, as if it were her birthright. She seemed oblivious to the glares Ginny sent her way as she traipsed out of the steam-filled room. And no matter how angry Ron and Bill got while they waited outside the closed bathroom door, their fury evaporated as soon as Fleur's face came into view.

Harry rarely made it to the shower before eleven in the morning.

After lunch, Harry helped Ron and Ginny with their chores. Most of the chores were tedious, but Harry came to enjoy de-gnoming the garden quite a bit. He and Ron had made a competition of it, seeing who could get the most gnomes past the tree stump on the other side of the garden wall. And regardless of how tedious the chores felt, the faster the Weasleys finished working around the house the more time the three of them were able to spend playing quidditch.

Occasionally Bill would join Ron, Harry and Ginny on the pitch, and they could play a match two aside, but mostly Ginny and Harry took turns shooting at Ron. Harry could see that the two Gryffindors had improved quite a bit since the previous fall—Ron was much more confident in net, and Ginny was shooting harder and with greater accuracy. Harry was nervous about Slytherin's chances in the upcoming season, until he remembered that there was no guarantee that he would be on the team. He assumed that his lifetime ban had been rescinded, but there had been no confirmation.

Evenings were much less structured than the rest of the day. Sometimes Ron and Harry would play chess—Harry was improving, which meant that he was able to win one match in every five instead of merely drawing one in every five. If Ron and Ginny were both occupied, Harry would find a comfortable spot and sit down to read. Harry was still working his way through the books that he had nicked from the library at Grimmauld Place last summer, and without the constant pressure of the Inquisition he was finding it much easier to understand the material. Before he opened any of his books, however, he made sure to alter the cover with an illusion; if Molly Weasley ever wandered by, she would see Harry reading a copy of "Household Charms for the Muggleborn."

Molly never seemed to question that Harry was so interested in learning—on the morning after Harry arrived, he and Ron had received their O.W.L. results. Harry had earned O.W.L.s in all nine of his classes, while Ron had earned O.W.L.s in seven. Ron had earned more than Fred and George combined, a fact that Molly had repeated several times. For his part, Harry was only moderately pleased with his grades. He had As in History of Magic and Arithmancy, two subjects where he had expected to earn at least an E. Lack of sleep must have cost him more than he knew. At least he had earned an O in Defense—if only Umbridge was around, so he could rub her nose in it.

When Harry wasn't reading or knocking about the house with Ron, he sometimes found himself spending time with Ginny. Harry would never admit it aloud, but those were Harry's favorite evenings. As Harry entered his third week at the Weasley's, he found himself trying to manufacture reasons to be in Ginny's company. As dinner wound to a close every evening, Harry would listen carefully for clues about the family's plans. Did Arthur and Molly have chores for their children after dinner? Were Bill and Fleur going off on together or staying in? Had Ron convinced Bill to play a late game of two-aside quidditch? Did Ginny have letters to write to her friends in Gryffindor?

In the light of day, Harry regarded these feelings with something like contempt. The amount of attention he paid to Ginny made him feel stupid. He was his own man, and his happiness didn't depend on what Ginny happened to be doing on any particular evening. Harry wasn't beholden to anybody. Those thoughts were easy to think at one or two in the afternoon, when he was lobbing gnomes over the fence with Ron. But no matter how resolved he had been in the daytime, as the sun began to set Harry struggled to keep his eyes from turning toward Ginny.

On the Sunday before his birthday, Harry volunteered to clear the table and wash dishes. Harry's desire to be a good houseguest was part of the reason he offered, but it was a small part. The true reason for Harry's offer was that Molly had ordered Ginny to clean up after dinner, and Harry knew that helping with the chores would put him in her close proximity. And, since nobody else would be likely to volunteer to do chores, it meant that Harry and Ginny would be alone.

Harry and Ginny chatted idly as they cleared the table, and their small talk continued as Ginny began washing dishes. Harry dried as Ginny washed, and only as he was putting a towel on the last bowl did Harry realize that they had almost finished with the dishes. Harry didn't know what Ginny planned to do with her evening, but he wasn't prepared to let her walk away.

"Er… Ginny? What're you doing tonight?

"Sleeping, I reckon," Ginny said. Her arms were deep in the sink, fishing for the plug so that she could drain the dishwater. She found the chain and yanked, pulling the plug free. As she dried her arms and hands on a dishtowel, she gave Harry a grin. "Or, did you mean before then?"

"Yes, that's what I meant," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not sure," Ginny said. "I hadn't really thought about it."

Harry took a deep breath. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Ginny's mouth twitched, and Harry got the impression that she was trying to conceal a smile. "That might be nice. Grab your shoes!" Before Harry could say another word, Ginny darted out of the kitchen and through the narrow passage that led to the sitting room. Harry followed her at a more reasonable pace, and when he arrived he saw Ginny sitting on the ground, already pulling her second shoe onto her foot. The rest of the family was in the sitting room, listening to the wizarding wireless.

"And where do you think you're going at this time of night?" Molly asked. The family had eaten dinner late, and it was almost nine in the evening. The sky had turned red, and even though the sun had not yet set it had long since fallen behind the trees.

"Harry and I are going for a walk," Ginny said.

"You know you can't leave the property without protection," Arthur said. "I know you don't like it, but…"

"Who said anything about leaving?" Ginny said. She finished tying her shoe and hopped to her feet. "I just said that we were going for a walk."

Every head in the room turned toward Harry. Arthur, Bill and Ron gave Harry identical glares—a simultaneous expression of disapproval and warning. Molly, meanwhile, seemed to be repressing a smile the same way her daughter had only minutes earlier. Fleur, for her part, was smiling brightly.

"It's a nice night," Harry said lamely.

"Go ahead," Molly said. The smile she had managed to keep off her face was evident in her voice. "Just stay on the property."

"Come on," Ginny said. She grabbed Harry's shoes and opened the door. "It's stuffy in here."

Harry followed Ginny outside, and she closed the door behind him. As he sat down on the steps to put on his shoes, Ginny folded her arms and glared at the door. "I can't believe them," she said. "Looking at you like that. Who do they think they are? What do they think is going to happen?"

"They're just worried," Harry said. "Don't be too hard on them."

"If they give me another look like that, they're liable to find themselves being attacked by their own bogies." Ginny spun on her heel and stomped away from the house. "Hurry up! Are we having a walk or not?"

Harry hastily tied the last knot in his laces and leaped to his feet to follow. Ginny was moving quickly, and Harry had to jog to catch up.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Producing a lot of content lately, which is good news. But it's hand-written, so I also need to find time to transcribe it, which is bad news. But it's better than no content, right? Right._

 _Update schedule: I'm going to shoot for once every three weeks. And I promise that this book will be SUBSTANTIALLY shorter than Emerald Trance._


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Ginny were walking next to each other, leaving the Burrow (and her nosy family) behind. Harry could tell that Ginny was irritated, but, thankfully, not at him.

"Stupid Phlegm!" Ginny's nickname for Fleur was neither particularly clever nor particularly mature. "Smiling at me like that. She doesn't even know me!"

"Not terribly fond of her?" Harry said.

"She's just so… flouncy," Ginny said. "Always flipping her hair this way and that, speaking about 'zis and zat' with her stupid accent." As she spoke, Ginny flipped her hair in a remarkably accurate imitation of Fleur. Although Ginny lacked the part-Veela's magical allure, Harry was still riveted by the redhead's movements. "I don't understand what Bill sees in her," Ginny said.

"She's an extremely talented witch," Harry said. "She made it through the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and it's not every wizard that can single-handedly evade a dragon." Harry had a great deal of respect for Fleur's abilities.

"So what? That doesn't mean she's a good person." Ginny had slowed her pace somewhat. Ginny and Harry had made it almost all the way to the pond; they turned to the west, following the property lines.

"She isn't a bad person, though," Harry said. "During the second task she was absolutely frantic to save her little sister."

"Everybody would have been, unless they were made of stone," Ginny countered.

"Right, but her sister wasn't in any real danger," Harry said. "A half-second of thought would have made that obvious—Dumbledore wouldn't have let that happen. But Fleur never paused to think about it, because the thought of losing her sister was so horrible."

"Ugh, have you finally fallen under her spell?" Ginny said. "Are you going to start following her around the house with your eyes glazed over, like Ron?"

"You seem overly concerned about Fleur getting my attention," Harry said, struggling to suppress a grin. Ginny was right, in that Harry had been defending Fleur more vigorously to Ginny than he would have to a stranger. Teasing Ginny about Fleur served two purposes: first, it was fun, and second, Ginny's reaction gave Harry a glimpse of her feelings about him. Early results were positive.

"That veela magic demeaning," Ginny said firmly.

"To women?"

"To men! It reduces Ron to a slobbering idiot, as if the only thing he could think about was sex. Yuck!" Ginny stuck her tongue out.

"Bill seems to handle it fairly well, though," Harry said.

"Bill's _engaged_ to her," Ginny said. "He isn't handling it well _at all!_ "

"Well, I guess that's one way of looking at it," Harry said. "But think of it this way: Fleur could have practically any wizard she wanted, but she chose Bill. There's something about Bill that makes him special, and she won't want to lose that."

Ginny folded her arms. "Stop making good points and just let me hate her. Let's change the subject."

Harry laughed. "Did I tell you about our new Defense teacher?"

"You know who it is?" Ginny said.

"Dumbledore brought me along when he asked Slughorn to join the staff," Harry said. "Actually, I was the one who convinced him to join."

"Oooh," Ginny said sarcastically. "I am _sooo_ impressed."

"Don't be," Harry said. "He's an old Slytherin. His full name is Horace Slughorn, and he used to teach Potions, back when my parents were in school. Your mum and dad might know him, actually."

"Do you think he'll be any good?" Ginny asked.

"He did a hell of a job faking a Death Eater attack," Harry said. "Splashed dragon's blood all around, upended all the furniture, transfigured himself into an armchair, all in less than two minutes."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, acknowledging the feat. "So he's going to teach us to hide?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Teaching us _anything_ would be an improvement over Umbridge. Let's not get picky."

"Any port in a storm, I guess," Ginny said. "Why did Dumbledore send you to convince Slug's-his-name?"

"Slughorn," Harry said. "Dumbledore says that Slughorn is notorious for befriending famous and powerful wizards. He likes to create a little club at Hogwarts and then maneuver his chosen ones into positions of prestige and power. In return, they help Slughorn maximize his comfort—sending him quidditch tickets, crystal pineapples, that sort of rubbish."

Ginny blanched. "He sounds like a real winner."

"He's likable enough," Harry said. Harry paused for a moment. "He practically invited me to join his club already. I'm probably going to do it."

"Ugh," Ginny said. "It sounds like the worst form of torture."

"Maybe," Harry said. "But I need to make up for last year. I wasn't the most popular wizard in Britain when I left school, and Slughorn can put me on the fast track to respectability."

"I thought _The Prophet_ had already done that," Ginny said. "You've been on the front page for how many days in a row?"

"I stopped counting," Harry said. "But popularity and notoriety are very different things, and I need more of the former and less of the latter. Even Voldemort is notorious, after all."

"Well, I hope it works out for you," Ginny said. "It sounds like a lot of work for very little tangible gain."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Harry said. Ginny pushed Harry in the shoulder, and he stumbled away before catching his footing.

"If Slughorn's as shallow as you say he is, maybe Hermione will re-start the D.A.," Ginny suggested. Harry and Ginny had reached the western edge of the property, and turned north. To their left were the woods, rapidly darkening in the fading light. The Burrow was to their right, and through the window Harry could see the Weasleys in the living room. Fleur was saying something, gesturing grandly with her hand, and she had Ron and Billy's rapt attention.

"Do you really think people will sign up for extra work?" Harry asked, turning back to Ginny. "We don't have O.W.L.s this year, and we'll be learning in class again."

" _You_ don't have O.W.L.s this year," Ginny said. "And by the end, I think people were really enjoying themselves. It didn't feel like work any longer." Harry tried to look away before Ginny could see the grimace on his face, but Ginny's small intake of breath told him that he had failed. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. That's not-"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, waving his hand in the air. "I know what I did last year, and I know how everybody reacted." Longbottom and his lot had antagonized Harry until he snapped. After Harry's duel with McLaggen, the D.A. had completely turned against Harry. "It's one of the reasons that I need to join the Slug Club."

"Oh, is that it? I figured it was because of all the connections you lost in Slytherin," Ginny said.

Harry gave Ginny a sour look. "Not helping."

"Sorry," Ginny said. She and Harry continued to the north. The rolling hills of the English countryside were purple in the twilit air. A single, distant oak stood strong and tall in the growing was a few moments before Ginny spoke again. "What's it like? In Slytherin?"

"Do you mean now?" Harry asked. "Or before Voldemort came back?"

"Both."

"Before it was… active. There was a social hierarchy, but it could change at any moment. Every interaction with another student was a chance to improve your standing… or the opposite. At first it was nerve-wracking, but eventually I found it exciting. Energizing. Complacency is not rewarded, in Slytherin." Harry paused and ran his hand through his hair, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. "Some people were more resistant to negative change—Draco, myself, Pansy. Others had a harder time improving, like Tracey, or Urquhart. Usually it was in direct proportion to wealth." Harry paused to let Ginny comment, but she said nothing. Harry turned and found that her jaw was hanging open. "I take it from your expression that things are not like this in Gryffindor?"

"NO!" Ginny exclaimed. "Of course they aren't! How can you live like that?"

"It isn't as bad as I make it seem, I guess," Harry said. "Slytherin is too small to go around betraying people—you'd burn all our bridges before your second year ended. Mostly it's about building alliances with one another, and then taking advantage of the other person as much as you can without making an enemy out of them." Harry shrugged. "It's a lot like real life, I think."

"Not my life," Ginny said.

"Well, politics, then," Harry said. "It's a lot like politics. Everybody has a person or two that they trust absolutely—for me, it was Draco and Tracey. Daphne had Tracey and her sister Astoria; Theo had Blaise. Outside of that, though, it was a free-for-all."

"But you always seem so… together," Ginny said. "Slytherin is like this inscrutable green and silver monolith that nobody from the other houses can even begin to comprehend."

"When everybody else hates you because of the color of your robes, you have to band together," Harry said. "At least, you have to band together until the external threat is gone. It's a lot like you and Tracey, actually. The two of you might not like one another much, but you were on the same team when confronted by Death Eaters."

"And you really have to think like that? Every moment of every day?" Ginny asked.

"You make it sound crazy, but it isn't," Harry said. "It took me longer than most, I think, but I was insulated from any consequences. I was rich, I was famous, I was best friends with Draco Malfoy. For a long time, Tracey did the majority of my social thinking for me. But I picked it up, eventually." Harry chuckled. "It came down to small talk, mostly. I banter a lot while I try to figure out whether somebody is taking advantage of me, or whether I can gain something from a particular person."

"I was not cut out to be in Slytherin," Ginny said, shaking her head.

"What's it like in Gryffindor, then?" Harry asked. "I happen to know a few Gryffindors who started a secret society last year, so don't tell me that you all just say exactly what you're thinking and then pat yourself on the back for being honest."

"No, it isn't like that," Ginny said defensively. "But it certainly isn't what you just described, either."

"What about Longbottom?" Harry said. "He did an admirable job of manipulating me and the rest of the D.A. last year."

Ginny laughed. "Really? Because his favorite insult for you is 'sneaky.' Potter's being sneaky again, he's always so sneaky, he's trying to sneak something else past us."

"I guess it takes one to know one," Harry said.

Ginny thought for a moment. "Actually, you two remind me of one another," Ginny said. "If things had turned out different—if you had been sorted into Gryffindor, maybe—I think you two would have been friends."

"And both you and I would be dead," Harry said.

Ginny's head snapped around. "What?"  
"If I'd been sorted into Gryffindor," Harry said. "I couldn't have claimed the title of Heir of Slytherin, and Voldemort would have killed us both in the Chamber of Secrets." Harry shrugged. "I like having friends, but I like being alive more."

Ginny shivered, and Harry got the sense that it was not because of the cooling night air. "So… what's it like now, then?" Ginny asked.

Harry laughed. "It's different, that's for sure. A cauldron full of simmering resentment, never boiling over? That sounds about right. Personally, I've fallen as far as I could fall, in terms of social power—that's a bit of a relief, because now I don't have to worry about it. In terms of actual violence, well, I'm sleeping a few feet away from the children of Death Eaters. A handful of my dormitory mates have fathers in Azkaban because of our trip to the Ministry last year. But I'm better in a duel than any two of them put together, and I made sure that they know it." Ginny opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but Harry held up his hand. "Don't ask. Anyway, with Dumbledore gone and the Inquisition ended, there's nothing to embolden them any longer. I think this year will probably pass rather quietly. Lots of dirty looks, but very little of consequence."

"That and the fact that everybody loves you, now." Ginny said. "You're the Choooosen Oooooone." Ginny spoke in a teasing sing-song, referring to the title _The Daily Prophet_ was now using to refer to Harry. It was worse than The Boy Who Lived, but far better than The Boy Who Lied. "And now that you're The Chosen One, you'll be more fanciable than ever—even more than you were during the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"Spend a lot of time thinking about how fanciable I am, do you?" Harry asked, teasing back.

"Who said anything about fanciable?" Ginny asked.

"You did."

"When?"

"Just now. You said, 'now that you're The Chosen One, you'll be more fanciable than ever.'"

"I said 'popular,' not 'fanciable.'"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you _thought_ the word 'popular,' but you _said_ the word 'fanciable.'"

Ginny began to turn red, and Harry could see that she was embarrassed by her slip of the tongue. She turned away slightly and looked toward the hills. The sky was fading from purple to blue to black, and the white moon was visible in the sky. Harry was prepared to turn east, but Ginny turned on her heels and began walking south again, alongside the woods once more.

"Are you The Chosen One?" Ginny asked, somewhat quietly.

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Why do you ask that?"

"Lucius Malfoy said something about a prophecy. It didn't seem right to ask you last year. But now, with everything the _Prophet_ has been saying…"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal," Harry said, paraphrasing the first portion of the prophecy. "He will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

Ginny turned, eyes wide with wonder. "So you are The Chosen One? You're destined to defeat You-Know-Who!"

Harry shook his head. "No. I have the power to defeat him, but the prophecy doesn't say I actually will. And after last year…" Harry looked Ginny in the eye. "I'm really worried, Ginny. I'm not sure I can do it."

Ginny seemed to sense Harry's uncertainty. "Of course you can," she said. "The prophecy says you can! And you were the best in the D.A.!"

"The difference between Voldemort and me is bigger than the difference between me and Colin Creevey," Harry said. "I was stupid not to realize it." Harry looked up at the sky. The stars had started to come out, and the moon was shining brightly. It reminded him of Luna's eyes, shining brightly after Bellatrix Lestrange sent a curse through her skull in the Department of Mysteries. "I was stupid, and Luna got killed for it."  
"Harry-"

"Sirius was an adult, at least," Harry said. "It still hurts, knowing he's gone, but he knew what he was doing. He fought in the first war, he knew what could happen, and he still chose to fight again. He knew what the risks were."

"And you think Luna didn't!?" Ginny said angrily. "She knew what she was doing! We all did!"

"If I hadn't asked-"

Ginny grabbed Harry's shoulder and pulled him to face her. "You listen to me, Harry Potter. We didn't go because you _asked_. We went because we're your friends! Luna understood what it felt like to lose a parent—that's why she went along. Not because you _asked_." Ginny shook her head, sending her long red hair flying. "Lucius was the closest thing you had to a father, and you thought you lost him at the beginning of the year. But suddenly you had a chance to bring him back. Luna would have done _anything_ to have the chance to bring back her mother. But for you… it was really there. An actual chance to get back the father you lost." Ginny pushed Harry away. " _That's_ why she went with you. She wanted to give you a chance at something she could never have."

"But I was wrong!" Harry shouted.

"You weren't wrong, Harry. You were tricked. For Lucius Malfoy to do that to you, using your relationship like that… If my father had…" Ginny shook her head again. "I can't even imagine it."

"It was the worst kind of betrayal," Harry said. "Abandoning me when Voldemort returned was awful, but he was weak and scared and I understand why he did it. And I expected that Lucius would use his knowledge of me to his advantage. But actually using our relationship to lure me into a trap…" Harry had kept these feelings bottled up for so long, and if felt good to say it aloud. It didn't change anything about what had happened, but it made Harry feel better. As if the burden of hatred was no longer Harry's alone to bear. "It's a good thing he's in Azkaban," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's the only thing keeping him safe from me."

"I was thinking the same thing," Ginny said grimly.

"Get in line," Harry said.

"I'm sure we could do it together," Ginny said. "We practiced together often enough, last year."

Harry snorted. "I'm not sure that you'll want to be part of what I'm planning for Lucius Malfoy."

A look of concern crossed Ginny's face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," Harry said flatly.

Ginny's frown deepened. "Harry…" She put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "I just want you to know that when the time comes to face him, or to face Voldemort, you won't have to do it alone."

"Ginny…"

"Harry, I believe in you. I supported you in the D.A., I supported you when you wanted to go to the Ministry, and I supported you when you wanted to ask Draco to join us. Nobody could do this alone, not even Dumbledore. And I promise you, you won't have to." Ginny looked Harry squarely in the eye. "But you have to promise me, too. Promise me that you'll accept my help. If you don't…" Ginny smiled a little. "I might have to go after Lucius Malfoy myself." Ginny stuck out her hand. "We do this together. Promise?"

Harry was touched by Ginny's sentiment. Dumbledore had been right about her. "Promise," Harry said, seizing her hand and giving it a firm shake. Even in the pale light of the moon, Harry could see how brightly Ginny was smiling.

After a moment Ginny blinked and turned her eyes down, and her smile softened a bit. Harry realized that he hadn't released Ginny's hand, and he also realized that she hadn't pulled her hand away. Every passing second was another moment that neither of them had pulled away from the other. When Ginny's finally moved she merely turned her hand slightly, allowing Harry to hold it more gently. Harry ran his thumb across Ginny's knuckles, and she responded by squeezing his hand slightly.

"Ginny, I-"

"Harry-"

Both of them paused, and then they laughed.

"You first," Ginny said.

"Okay," Harry said. He paused for a moment, composing his thoughts. Then Harry took a half step toward Ginny and leaned down to kiss her.

Ginny was shorter than Harry, but just barely—he hardly needed to turn his face down in order to kiss her. But, somehow, Harry's lips met only open air. Harry opened his eyes—he had closed them instinctively when he moved in for the kiss—and found that Ginny had taken a step back. "Did you hear that?" She was looking over her shoulder, left and right. She took several steps and Harry lost sight of her behind a bush.

"What?" Harry asked. He jammed his hand into his pocket and seized his wand, following quickly. "What is it?"

"I thought I heard something," Ginny said. Harry rounded the bush just in time to see Ginny disappear behind another. Harry jogged ahead, worried. The Burrow had disappeared behind the leaves of the bushes—Harry could barely see the light from the window. If something happened…

"Ginny? Wait!" Harry broke into a trot. He found Ginny behind the second bush, lifting its branches, inspecting the area all around.

"It's strange," Ginny said. "I expected to find Professor Snape and Igor Karkaroff hiding around here somewhere." Ginny released the branch and shrugged. "Historically, that's been true whenever you've kissed me.

A minute ago, Harry had been certain that Ginny was flirting with him. But she had dodged his kiss, and her current teasing lacked the flirtatious tone she had used earlier in the night. Harry felt the chill of uncertainty creep up his spine. "I think your sample size is too small to draw any real conclusions," Harry said tentatively.

"Oh? And you think we should increase the sample size? For the sake of research?" Ginny folded her arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. Was it possible that she hadn't been flirting with him? Had he been misinterpreting her signals? No; maybe he would have during fourth year, but Harry had enough experience with witches to know when one was flirting with him. But that didn't foreclose the possibility that Ginny was simply being mean—leading Harry along, seeing how far he would go, with the ultimate goal of rejecting Harry in the most embarrassing way possible. Probably to teach him a lesson about treating her poorly. She'd say something about only getting one chance, and he'd already ruined it-

"Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry snapped out of his reverie.

"You have horrible timing, you know that?"

"Yeah, I sort of figured," Harry said glumly. So, that was it. He had missed his chance—she didn't fancy him any longer. Ginny might have gotten caught up with somebody else over the summer, perhaps even before they left Hogwarts. Harry thought she would have told him, but she didn't owe him anything. "I really ruined things, didn't I?"

Ginny have Harry a hard, blazing look. "Look around you, Harry."

Harry looked.

"Can you see my house from here?" Ginny asked.

Harry glanced toward The Burrow, but the whole house was obscured by the tree. He could see fireflies beginning to light, but nothing of the Burrow. "No," he said.

"I can't see it, either," Ginny said. Ginny grabbed the hair on the back of Harry's head and turned his face toward hers, which allowed her to kiss him firmly on the lips. A moment later, she pulled back and smiled. " _Now_ would be a good time to kiss me," she said softly.

Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny's waist and pulled her close. Her lips were slightly chapped from many afternoons spent in the sun, and her hair smelled like flowers. Not roses or carnations, but wildflowers, something that grew in the meadows during long, sunlit days.

The next morning, Harry and Ginny awoke covered in mosquito bites. Mrs. Weasley asked them at breakfast why they hadn't come inside if they were being bitten so badly. Ginny shrugged and responded for both of them.

"I guess we just didn't notice."

* * *

 **A/N:** _Sorry about the delay, everybody. I was, what, two weeks late, here? So, bonus chapter (and by bonus chapter, I mean "regularly scheduled chapter") next Friday.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was Harry's birthday, and Harry somehow managed to sleep through the commotion of the Weasley household's morning routine. He awoke only when Hedwig began tapping at his bedroom window, first lightly, then with increasing force and rapidity. Once Harry let Hedwig inside, she refused to deliver his pair of birthday cards until he gave her an owl treat and scratched between her wings.

The first card Harry opened looked as if it had laying in a busy street for the last several days. It was from the Dursleys, and Harry figured that he ought to get the worst out of the way. The card, if one could call it that, was a piece of lined paper that had been ripped out of a spiral notebook, complete with ragged edges. On the front of the card, Vernon had scrawled the words, "It is your birthday." The inside of the card said nothing. Harry checked the envelope, to see if they had sent any sort of gift, and a stick of hard, chalky chewing gum fell out.

Harry tossed the envelope and card aside, and jammed the gum into his mouth. Might as well enjoy it.

Harry smiled broadly when he opened his second card. The twins had sent him a birthday card of their own making. A line-drawn witch and wizard were moving across the front of the card, engaging in an animated duel. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, though, as they were smiling broadly at one another. Harry opened the card to see what the witch and wizard were doing on the inside, and his face immediately turned red—they weren't wearing their robes, and they were certainly _not_ dueling. Harry snapped the card shut and looked around the room, embarrassed even though he knew he was alone. When Harry re-opened the card, the witch and wizard were pointing and laughing at him. Tucked inside the card was a voucher for free merchandise at the twins' newly opened shop in Diagon Alley, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Harry tucked the voucher in his robes, resolving to make good use of it when he journeyed to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies for the upcoming year. He hid the card under his mattress, to be disposed of at a more convenient time.

A few presents were arranged at the foot of his bed. Harry wasn't sure whether the gifts had been delivered by Winky or Kreacher, but since they were still neatly wrapped and had not been covered in some sort of vile, vaguely organic slime, Harry guessed that the former was responsible. The first gift was from Theo—a white button-down shirt. The gift seemed boring, as Harry had a dozen of these shirts to wear with his uniform. When Harry lifted the shirt from the box, however, he realized that this was something different. The fabric was light and almost slippery, not at all like cotton, and it stretched slightly when Harry tugged it. As the shirt unfolded, a note fell into Harry's lap.

 _Harry,_

 _This is a dueling shirt, made with a blend of mooncalf hair. You'll have better mobility, and it won't get sweat stained like regular cotton._

 _-Theo_

Harry looked at the shirt with new appreciation before folding it up and replacing it in the box.

The second box was from Hagrid, and it contained a tiny net on the end of a tiny stick. The opening for the net was only the size of a knut, and Harry wondered what Hagrid could possibly mean for Harry to capture with it. The card provided very little insight: _Turn it over_ , Hargrid had written.

Harry turned the net over in his hand to examine it, and was surprised to discover that it had suddenly doubled in size, and was now lager than a sickle. Harry flipped the net back over, and blinked several times—the net was once again the size of a knut. Harry turned it again, and the net was suddenly sickle-sized.

"Awesome," Harry muttered. Harry began flipping the net in his hand, right side over left, and the net grew and grew until the pole was longer than Harry was tall and the opening was large enough to catch Ron inside. Then Harry began flipping the net left side over right, and before his eyes the net began to shrink until it was once again the size of Harry's spare pocket change.

Harry tucked the net inside his pocket and glanced around his room. There were no more packages for him to open. Harry immediately felt ashamed of himself—he was wealthy enough, especially after Sirius's bequest, and he didn't really _need_ anything—but he was also a little hurt. He had thought that Hermione would send him a book, because that's what she always gave him for his birthday and for Christmas, and Harry had expected Tracey to send him… _something_.

Harry sighed. Whatever Hermione and Tracey were doing this summer, it had to be pretty engaging if they had forgotten Harry's birthday. Not that Harry would have wished a boring or antagonistic summer on them, but… he was still a little hurt.

Harry opened his door and poked his head into the hallway. It seemed that the washroom was empty, so Harry seized his towel and darted inside. A few minutes later, freshly showered and with wet hair, Harry emerged from the washroom. He could hear voices downstairs, probably at the table eating breakfast. Harry hurried to his room and jumped into his clothes—if he wanted any food, he'd have to move quickly. Harry took the stairs two at a time, and had already made it into the kitchen before he realized that there were two new guests seated at the table.

"Surprise!" shouted Tracey.

"Happy birthday!" called Hermione, who was quickly echoed by Tracey, Ron, and Ginny. Tracey and Hermione each had a full plate of food in front of them, and they appeared to have been eating for some time. Ron and Ginny had empty plates in front of them, and had already resumed an ongoing argument about who got to eat the last link of sausage. On the stove, a pot was bubbling over low heat—probably dinner, Harry thought.

"The last link is for Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly from the sink, where she was washing dishes. Ron and Ginny flopped back into their seats and crossed their arms. "And happy birthday, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, turning to Harry.

"Thanks, everyone," Harry said, taking a seat next to Ginny. He quickly seized the last link of sausage, then began filling his plate with eggs and potatoes. "When did you two get here?" Harry asked Tracey and Hermione.

"Just this morning," Hermione said. "Tonks came by, picked us up, and brought us here."

Harry paused, a forkful of eggs partway to his mouth. "Tonks? Is something wrong? I mean, did you need protection?"  
"No, nothing like that," Hermione said. "I had always planned to visit Ron and Ginny at some point this summer, and once I heard that you were staying here it just seemed like your birthday would be the perfect time. Mrs. Weasley arranged for Tonks to get us."

"Too bad Bill wasn't here to see her," Ginny grumbled. Harry might have been imagining it, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to have grunted in agreement.

"And as much as I would have preferred to stay alone with Hermione's parents," Tracey said somewhat flatly, "I got dragged along."

"Oh, hush," Hermione said, waving her hand at Tracey. Tracey stuck out her tongue, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, why don't you open your gifts?"

Harry reached across the table and accepted the packages that Hermione and Tracey were holding out for him. Harry opened Hermione's first. It was, as he had expected, a book: _Charms of Defence and Deterrence_ , by Professor Catullus Spangle. Harry glanced at the table of contents—the book dealt with the magical theory underlying the Patronus Charm. Harry thanked Hermione, and he thought he did a fair job of concealing his annoyance at her choice of subject matter. Her not-so-subtle message to Harry—that he should focus on _defense_ rather than _counter-attack_ —had long since been received.

Turning to Tracey's gift, Harry opened the package and discovered an assortment of sweets from Honeydukes. "I ordered them before we knew you would be at the Burrow," Tracey said. "I thought a taste of Honeydukes would do you a lot of good while you were stuck with your aunt and uncle."

"It'll do me a lot of good now," Harry said, seizing a chocolate frog. He unwrapped the tasty faux-amphibian and took an enormous bite.

Mrs. Weasley was appalled. She had turned around to watch Harry open his gifts, and Harry saw that her right hand was on her hip, clutching a dishrag. "You'll spoil your breakfast, Harry!"

"But itfs my bwrfday," Harry sputtered through a mouthful of chocolate.

Everybody at the table laughed, and Harry was thankful to have diverted their attention. Ever since he had opened Tracey's gift, he had been struggling to control his emotions. Hermione's gift was annoying, yes, but it was also thoughtful. Tracey's gift, though… Tracey's gift could have been purchased by any witch, or for any wizard. It was the equivalent of Harry buying Tracey a gift from Madam Primpernelle's—the refuge of the desperate, the lazy, and the ambivalent.

Harry had would have preferred the version of his birthday from earlier in the morning, when he thought that Tracey had not gotten him a gift at all. Receiving a box full of candy was insulting, and Tracey was smart enough to know _exactly_ what she was doing.

Harry hadn't realized his relationship with Tracey had deteriorated so badly.

Ron presented Harry with a card, and inside the card were a pair of tickets to a Chudley Canons quidditch match in late October. "They're at the bottom of the league," Ron said excitedly, "but if they have a chance of winning a game this year, it's against Falmouth." Ron looked down. "Then again, Falmouth beat Chudley 370 to 40 when they played in June…"

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. "I'm sure the game will be great."

"I mean, it won't be like the World Cup," Ron said. "Chudley haven't won a game in years, and their chasers are terrible. Did you know that Marcus Flint was playing for them, now? Their beaters are just rubbish, too. And their coach is the worst. Oliver Wood is basically their only player worth a-"

"RON," Harry said. "Thank you. I'm already looking forward to it."

"Oh. Good!" Ron's face brightened. "And, you know, if you can't find anybody to go to the match with you…"

Hermione swatted Ron in the arm. "Ronald! If you want to go to a quidditch match, buy the tickets yourself!"

Ron shrank away from Hermione. "I was just saying…"

"Well, don't," Hermione said. She glanced up at Mrs. Weasley and rolled her eyes. Mrs. Weasley turned away, hiding her smile.

"My gift isn't ready yet," Ginny said to Harry.

"How thoughtful of you," Tracey muttered under her breath.

Ginny sent Tracey a cross look, then turned her eyes back to Harry. "You'll have to wait until after dinner."

"I'm not worried," Harry said. "I'm a patient bloke."

With no more gifts to open, conversation turned away from Harry. Harry was thankful that the attention was no longer focused squarely on him—he was quiet as he ate the remainder of his breakfast, speaking only when necessary to avoid appearing suspicious. Ron, thankfully, provided a welcome distraction—he was so happy to have Hermione in the room that he was practically bursting with excitement. Ginny was able to get in a few words when Ron and Hermione weren't talking, but that accounted for the majority of the speaking time at the kitchen table. Harry and Tracey were allowed to sit in silence. Their eyes met a few times, but one or the other would look away almost immediately.

The afternoon was spent playing awkward two-aside quidditch at Ron's behest. Ron, excited to finally have enough players to form a "proper game," declared himself all-time keeper. Harry and Hermione formed one team, with Hermione's tentativeness and lack of experience balancing the wild advantage of Harry's Firebolt. And although they hadn't spoken more than five words to one another since Tracey arrived, she and Ginny formed a surprisingly good team. As Harry had said to Ginny earlier in the summer, they might not like each other but they certainly worked well together.

Their match lasted for most of the afternoon, until Ginny finally called an end to it. Tracey and Harry were upset for very different reasons—Tracey was enjoying winning, while Harry was upset that he and Hermione would be deprived of a chance to catch up. Ginny was adamant, however, and a few moments later her broom was safely stored in the shed. Hermione tried to beg out of the game, as well, but Ron was having none of it. Ron came out of the goal and played chaser with Tracey to even the teams. Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, but Ron didn't notice.

A couple of hours after Ginny went inside, Mrs. Weasley came to the window and called everybody for dinner. Ron couldn't stop talking about the game and the various plays that had been attempted by both teams, despite the fact that Hermione's capacity for quidditch had been exhausted long before Ginny had left the game. Catching a desperate glance from Hermione, Harry stepped up to Ron's other side and enthusiastically engaged the tall redhead in a conversation about the merits of shooting versus passing when two chasers were facing only a single defender in addition to the keeper. Ron favored passing—even though it risked being intercepted by the defender, a successful pass would leave the keeper out of position and make a goal more likely. Privately, Harry agreed with Ron, but in order to effectuate Hermione's rescue Harry began to argue vigorously in favor of shooting. Perhaps too vigorously—Ron wouldn't abandon the subject, despite Harry's clear verbal cues as they sat down to eat. Finally, Mrs. Weasley issued a new edict: no quidditch at the dinner table.

As Mrs. Weasley began serving salad, Harry noticed that Ginny was not present. "Shouldn't we wait?" Harry asked.  
"I think she's just washing up," Mrs. Weasley said. "She didn't want me to wait—she'll be down in a moment."

Harry almost finished with his salad when he heard the creaking of stairs that meant Ginny was on her way down. When Ginny stepped into the kitchen, Harry froze. His forkful of vegetables was halfway to his open mouth, but Harry had already forgotten it. Ginny had washed up, but she was not wearing her usual attire of denim jeans and a t-shirt. Instead, she was wearing a navy blue sundress that left her freckled shoulders exposed. She sat down next to Harry and asked her mother to pass the salad. After a moment, she turned to Harry.

"You're about to lose your carrot," she said.

"What?" Harry said, startled out of his reverie. The carrot, which had been precariously balanced on Harry's fork, slipped off, bounced on his plate, and went careening toward his pants. Harry's left hand reflexively snapped upward to catch the carrot, but there wasn't enough room between Harry's waist and the table. Harry's hand smashed against the underside of the table instead, loudly rattling the dishes. "Shite!" Harry yelled. He pushed back his chair and shook his hand, trying to chase the pain away. Then Harry looked up, caught Mrs. Weasley's eye, and winced. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said quietly.

"That's okay, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "But only this once."

"Lucky it's your birthday," Ginny whispered, elbowing Harry in the ribs.

Harry smiled and retrieved the carrot from his pants. He excused himself and stepped away from the table to throw the carrot in the bin. As he returned to the table, he saw that Tracey was sending a nasty glare toward Ginny. She was hiding it from the rest of the table with her hand, pretending to scratch her forehead, but to Harry her face was completely exposed.

When Harry returned to his seat, he saw that Tracey had managed to compose her face. She was making small talk with Hermione and Ron as Mrs. Weasley stood and began ladling the main course into bowls and passing them course around the table. It appeared to be some sort of beef stew with rough-chopped vegetables. Harry wasn't sure what to call it, but it looked and smelled delicious.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he accepted a bowl of stew. Harry eagerly scooped himself an enormous spoonful, and was happy to find that the stew tasted as good as it looked. "This is fantastic."

"You're welcome, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "But Ginny made dinner." Harry's eyebrows went up. Across the table, Tracey began coughing, as if she had swallowed something distasteful.

"You were barely out of my sight all day," Harry said, turning to Ginny. "When did you have time?"

"I got up early and did most of the work before everybody else was awake," Ginny said.

"You didn't want anybody to see if something went wrong?" Tracey asked. Her voice was light and teasing, but Harry knew there was an edge of aggression in her comment.

"I wanted Harry to have a nice dinner for his birthday," Ginny said. "And I didn't want him to see his birthday present before it was ready."

"Well, thank you," Harry said quietly. "It's wonderful."

Ginny blushed and smiled. At the other end of the table, Tracey blanched in mock disgust.

Harry ignored her—having somebody care enough about him to make a special birthday dinner was something he had never experienced. The Malfoys had always taken Harry out to eat, usually to a restaurant that was hideously expensive. The extravagance had always made Harry somewhat uncomfortable. With the Dursleys, Harry had usually been the one COOKING dinner, and Harry had known better than to cook himself something special—if he did, Dudley always gobbled it up before Harry had a chance to take a bite. Sometime, Vernon or Petunia would _order_ their son to do so, smirking with satisfaction while Harry's specially made snack disappeared in Dudley's enormous mouth.

Dinner at the Weasley's, however, was perfect. Harry was comfortable, the food was delicious, he was surrounded by his friends… it really was a present, more than a meal.

When everybody had finished with the main course, Ron was the first to stand from the table. "Harry, there's this new defense I wanted to talk to you about-"

"What did I say about quidditch at the dinner table?" Mrs. Weasley asked, interrupting.

"Dinner's over," Ron said. "I'm standing!"

"Sit down," Ginny said firmly. "Dinner isn't over yet."

"Don't gang up on me," Ron said, still standing.

"Ronald!" snapped three female voices at once. Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley exchanged grins. The younger girls deferred to Mrs. Weasley, who pointed at Ron's chair. "Sit."

Ron sat.

Ginny, meanwhile, was sitting up in her seat a little bit, looking around the kitchen. She seemed to be searching for something in particular. "Mum?" Ginny asked. "Where's the… you know…"

"Oh! Sorry, dear." Mrs. Weasley drew her wand from her apron and gestured toward the countertop. The air above the counter rippled for a moment, and a moment later a birthday cake swam into view. It was two tiered, covered in chocolate frosting, and at the top of the cake a replica of a golden snitch was surrounded by a ring of sixteen candles. Ginny rose and retrieved the cake, carrying it gingerly across the room and placing it gently at the center of the table. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand again, and tiny flames flickered to life atop the candles.

"This is the gift that wasn't ready, yet?" Harry asked. Ginny shrugged noncommittally. "I hope you like it."

Harry smiled broadly. "It's brilliant. Of course I like it." The Malfoys had always purchased a fancy cake for Harry's birthday, and those had certainly looked nicer, but it was obvious that Ginny had labored over this cake. "Let's see what I can do about these candles, then." He took in a deep breath and managed to blow out all of the candles but one. A quick puff extinguished the remaining candle, and Mrs. Weasley set about cutting the cake.

After dinner, both Hermione and Tracey went upstairs to wash up for the evening. Harry helped Ron and Ginny clean the kitchen, and as they were finishing Hermione returned to the ground floor, bushy hair in fullest frizz after her shower. Ron immediately went to her side, and the two began a quiet conversation.

Harry, who was placing the last of the dishes in the cupboard, gave Ginny a glance. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"You mean you don't want to wait around for Tracey?" Ginny said. She tilted her head upward, toward the sound of running water that was coming from the washroom shower.

"She'll be fine," Harry said. "Let's go."

It was a warm evening, and Harry could hear frogs croaking in the nearby marsh. On the edge of the Weasleys' property was a small copse of trees, and in their shadows flickered the light of fireflies.

Harry and Ginny were quiet for the first portion of their walk. Harry wasn't sure what Ginny was thinking, but he was thinking about how wonderful his birthday had been. The gifts and dinner were more understated than he had experienced when celebrating with the Malfoys, but today's events felt closer to Harry's heart.

As Harry and Ginny reached the edge of the garden, they turned and began to circle the Burrow. "Thank you," Harry said, finally breaking the silence. "I've gotten gifts before—Hagrid even got me a cake, once—but this is the first time I've ever been thrown a proper party.

Ginny smiled. "I'm glad you liked it. The kitchen isn't my comfort zone, so there was a definite chance that I could have made everybody sick with my cooking."

"Well, I'm not bent over a loo yet, so I think we're probably safe," Harry said, smiling back.

"You really know how to charm a lady," Ginny said. "Take her on an evening walk, talk about vomiting into the loo…"

"I'm sorry, what was your nickname for Fleur, again?" Harry asked. "As I recall, it wasn't very ladylike."

"Careful, Harry Potter," Ginny said. "Remember what happened the last time you suggested that I wasn't a lady."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I got detention?"

Ginny laughed and pushed Harry, who stumbled but quickly regained his balance. "Prat."

Harry laughed, as well. They were past the garden now, almost to the edge of the property. Remembering Mrs. Weasley's admonishments to stay close, Harry and Ginny turned once again. "Seriously, though, thank you for the dinner and the cake. That little party was the highlight of my summer."

"Oh, really?" Ginny said, raising one eyebrow. "If that party was the highlight of your summer, then how would you characterize our walk last night?"

Harry blushed as he thought back to the previous evening, but he wasn't truly ashamed—Ginny had been there, too, after all. Harry gave her question another moment of consideration before shrugging his shoulders. "There's no good way to answer that, is there?"

"Nope," Ginny said, smiling and laughing.

"How is it that girls learn to ask tricky questions like that?" Harry wondered aloud. "Is there a class at Hogwarts that the boys aren't told about?"

"Yes," Ginny said earnestly. "But it isn't for girls, it's for _ladies_."

Harry laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I'm clearly outmatched here. I retract my previous statement. In no particular order, last evening and this evening have been among this summer's most wonderful."

Ginny nodded her head firmly. "Much better." She began walking away from Harry and gestured for him to follow. "Now, come over here so I can give you the rest of your gift."

"The rest?"

"Yes." When Harry was slow to follow, Ginny stepped back, grabbed his shirt, and began tugging him across the lawn. "This was actually going to be your first gift, but I thought it was sort of crummy, so I made you dinner and threw you a little party, too." Ginny stopped in front of her father's shed and released Harry.

"Oh boy," Harry said flatly. "A shed. Just what I wanted."

Ginny swatted Harry on the back of his head. "Go inside!"

Harry entered. The shed was dark, in the twilight, until Ginny lit a lamp near the door. The shed was rather chaotically arranged, with tools hanging here and there and broken parts of muggle appliances scattered over every flat surface. The center of the shed had been cleared, apparently recently. On the far side of the shed, Harry saw the record player that he had gotten Ginny for the previous Christmas.

Ginny crossed the shed and moved the needle of the record player. "I had to owl Fred and George to get this for me. For you, rather."

"You got me a record?" Harry said, grinning.

"Yes," said Ginny. "And I know that you don't have anything to play it, which is why it was such a crummy gift. But I feel like we've always really connected about music. It's something we share."

"We share other things," Harry said.

"I _certainly_ wasn't going to get the Slytherin quidditch captain any equipment," Ginny said immediately.

Harry grimaced. "I don't-"

"It's going to be you," Ginny said, interrupting Harry. "Snape isn't stupid. Now, hush."

Harry fell silent. For the first time, he truly focused on the music that was coming out of the record player. It was upbeat and peppy, with several male voices singing in harmony. "Who is this?" Harry asked.

"They're called The Beach Boys," Ginny said. She picked up the record sleeve and held it up for Harry to see. "An American band. I wanted something new… and something we could dance to."

"Ah," Harry said, finally understanding Ginny's true purpose. "So the real gift isn't the record at all. The real gift is the time I get to spend with you?"

Ginny snapped her finger and stomped her foot. "Damn it! I wish I'd thought to say that!"

"Because then you wouldn't have needed to make me dinner?" Harry said.

"Exactly."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Harry said. "Without that dinner, I'd still be hungry. And I can't dance on an empty stomach."

"So… you like it?" Ginny asked. Behind all the banter, Harry could see that Ginny was truly worried about the gift.

"I do," Harry said honestly. He stepped toward Ginny. "But I'm worried you don't."

"What? Why?"

"Because you aren't dancing yet!" Harry seized Ginny's hands and pulled her toward the center of the shed. Ginny laughed, and a moment later they were both dancing.

After the fourth or fifth song, Harry and Ginny were both covered in sweat. As the last guitar chord faded, they both paused. Harry raised a hand to wipe his brow as the next song began, and as he moved his hand away he realized that a slow song was beginning. Harry looked at Ginny and saw her brown eyes glancing uncertainly toward a chair that was tucked away at the corner of the shed.

"Don't even think about it," Harry said. Harry stepped forward and Ginny's eyes snapped away from the chair, meeting Harry's own. "I thought you wanted something we could dance to?" Harry reached out and grabbed Ginny's right hand with his left, raising it into the air. He placed his right hand on Ginny's hip, and was pleased to find that Ginny's left hand was now resting on his shoulder.

It wasn't the first time that Harry and Ginny had shared a slow dance, but the differences were apparent. They were almost two years older, and each knew the other far better than they had at Yule Ball. Harry felt the urge to move closer to Ginny, and as his feet shuffled around the floor he allowed their movements to carry him closer and closer. A few steps later, Harry and Ginny's bodies were pressed together. Harry's right hand moved from Ginny's hip to the small of her back, and she did not move away.

"I haven't thanked you properly," Harry said, turning his head slightly toward Ginny. Their faces were very close, and Harry could feel Ginny's warm breath on the base of his neck.

"You thanked me earlier," Ginny said.

"I know," Harry replied. "But I haven't thanked you _properly_." Harry tilted his head to one side and, when Ginny made no attempt to move away, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Neither Harry nor Ginny noticed when the slow song ended.


End file.
